A Warrior’s Heart by Misty M. Beller
18
Once Evan had settled on the fur with his shaving supplies spread around him, Brielle took her seat against the wall. Silence settled over them as he focused on his work, but the more time passed, the more tension tightened his arms and made his fingers clumsy. The only woman who’d ever watched him shave had been Sophia, but she’d never sat and openly stared at him the way Brielle was doing.
As he paused to wipe the shaving soap from his blade, he sent a smile her way. “I’m not accustomed to an audience.”
She raised her brows, and her mouth pressed into a pert line. But she didn’t say anything in answer.
He lifted the blade to his jaw again and peered into the metal jar lid he used as a mirror. “Am I doing it wrong?” If he kept prodding, maybe he’d get a word or two out of her.
“I’m usually hunting outside of village walls when my father does his shaving, so I wouldn’t know. I think you’re doing all right.” There was a response. And something in it struck him almost as sassy. As though she’d relaxed around him enough to tease.
He kept working without glancing at her again, pulling a steady swipe across his skin, then wiping the soap off the razor with the cloth. “I’ve always figured as long as I get the hair off without drawing blood, I’ve accomplished my goal.”
Something was beginning to spark between them. If he were honest, he’d been overly aware of her since the beginning, but she’d treated him differently since the tussle with Gerald. Had he proved something in her mind?
What would it take to prove his innocence completely for her? Would she lay down her defenses enough to give him a chance to win her heart? He had a feeling that winning Brielle would be no easy feat. But she would be worth every bit of effort required.
But what was he saying? This wasn’t a mission to find a wife. An entire country—hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children—depended on him to find the mineral needed to win the war. How could he be so selfish as to let them down merely to pursue his own happiness?
As it was, he’d been doing precious little to find pitchblende since he’d been captured. True, he’d been locked in this room for days on end. He’d watched for pitchblende every place they took him, but he’d found no sign of it. Yet he’d definitely seen the orange striations that signaled the presence of pitchblende on the backside of this mountain. He had to find a way to search more in these caves.
He’d have to be watchful during the feast.
He sent a glance toward Brielle. Since they had a few moments, maybe she’d be willing to share a bit more about herself. “I’m curious.” Her expression didn’t change so he pushed on. “How did you come to be chief of the guards? Was it a dream of yours? Or is it a stepping-stone to more?”
He wasn’t sure how many higher positions there could be in a village such as this. Yet she was so capable and still had many years before her. She could accomplish anything she set her mind to, no doubt. But wouldn’t she want a family of her own someday?
Brielle’s expression shifted—or rather, all hint of her thoughts seemed to fade away. “I’ve always been a hunter. A provider. I learned archery while most of the other girls were learning to cook. I prefer to be outdoors, outside of village walls.” She shrugged, seemingly uncomfortable with speaking of her accomplishments. “I suppose I merely practiced more than the others. Hunted more. I joined the guard so I could help protect and provide for our community. When our last leader of the guards took sick and died, the people voted to select a new leader from among the guards.”
He met her gaze and held it. “From everything I’ve seen, they chose well.”
She dropped her focus away. This woman who stood so strong when protecting others didn’t seem to know how to accept praise for herself.
To lighten the conversation, he pressed a hand to the arrow wound that had all but healed. “I can attest to your aim with a bow and arrow anyway.”
She flicked a look at him, and one corner of her mouth tipped.
Distant voices sounded in the hallway, farther down near the doors leading to the individual homes. Brielle stood, and he hurried to finish the last two razor swipes and clean himself up.
“Sounds like the time has almost come.” She opened the door and peered down the corridor, then pulled back and closed it.
Her gaze turned sad as she studied him. “I’ve been commanded to tie you, Evan. I have no choice.”
He nodded as he quickly rolled the leather strip around his supplies. “I know. It’s all right.”
When he was finished, she moved his packs back against the wall and knelt before him with a leather cord. The gentleness with which she knotted the binding around his wrists made it easy to imagine her smoothing tears away from her siblings’ cheeks.
This fierce lady warrior would make an excellent mother. Caring grew from deep inside her and could take any form the situation required. Whether it be the strength of nerve to slay a caribou to provide meat for her family’s sustenance, or the fierceness to shoot an arrow into a stranger’s chest to protect the people she loved, or the gentleness to ensure she didn’t bring pain, or the loyalty to perform a duty she disliked merely because the people she loved had asked it of her.
When she’d tied the last knot, they both stood, and he followed her through the doorway. Then she slowed for him to come alongside. As they walked down the long corridor, people began to file from the doors that opened into the hallway. Voices chattered all around them, and he recognized several people he’d seen in the courtyard. Audrey emerged from one door ahead of them, baskets piled high in her arms.
An older man stepped out behind her, maybe her father. His arms were equally loaded. How long had the people been planning this feast? Surely she wasn’t tasked with bringing all the food.
Apparently not, for other men and women bore loads of leather-covered bowls and baskets, and savory aromas wafted all around them.
The door beside him opened, and a lad barreled out, nearly slamming into him. Evan stepped to the side and braced himself just as Brielle’s brother pulled to a stop.
“Andre.” Brielle’s tone held the censure of a mother scolding a wayward child.
And her brother looked properly contrite. “Sorry.”
A voice from inside the room called, “He’s supposed to help me carry this food.”
Evan couldn’t see through the barely open doorway, so he glanced at Brielle to catch her reaction. A line formed across her brow as she sent him a weak smile. Then she turned her attention back to her brother. “You know Charlotte needs help.”
Andre pushed the door wider, and a young woman appeared. The load she carried hid all but her face, until the boy took two baskets from the top.
“Here, let me take some, too.” Evan extended his bound hands for her to place something on his forearms.
Charlotte sent a questioning glance to Brielle and must have received an approving nod. She placed two baskets on his arms. “Now I’ll just bring this meat.”
Andre shuffled ahead, and Brielle waited for her sister to step out and start down the corridor before they fell into step behind her. Charlotte resembled Brielle in so many ways, especially her dark, almost-black hair that hung in a long braid down her back. The willowy form that gave Charlotte a girlish look would probably fill out into the lithe curves Brielle possessed in a year or so. Yet, she already moved with the same grace Brielle did.
He slid a glance at the woman beside him and caught the look of pride warming her gaze as she watched her siblings. From what he’d seen, she’d done an excellent job as stand-in mother to these two.
They continued past the hallway on the left that led to the outside door, and the murmur of voices grew louder as they approached the wooden double doors propped open. He’d never been this far into the cave before.
When they stepped through the opening, a vast room opened up before them, as large as any ballroom he’d ever seen, larger maybe. The space must be expansive enough to hold every one of the citizens of Laurent. How had they ever hacked it out of stone? But the high domed ceiling felt so natural that maybe this was a cavern that had already been there when the first visitors built these underground homes.
Brielle motioned him forward, and he shifted his focus to what lay inside the space. Rows of tables lined with benches filled most of the area. Torches were mounted around the perimeter and placed on each table. People milled around, some already seated and others in conversation or spreading out food. The atmosphere hummed with energy.
As Brielle led him to a table tucked in the right corner, those they passed turned to watch them. A few stepped back to clear a wide path for him to pass, though there was already plenty of room for him and Brielle to move without brushing anyone.
Yet, for the most part, it didn’t seem to be fear marking people’s expressions. Simply curiosity. As much as being a spectacle made his neck itch, at least they didn’t seem afraid of him.
At the table, Charlotte was already unpacking supplies from the baskets she and her brother had carried, and Audrey stood there also, with the man he’d assumed was her father.
After Brielle took the baskets from his arms and placed them on the table, she motioned to the end of the bench nearest the wall. “We’ll sit there.” They would have their back to the corner, the perfect position to watch the goings-on without missing anything. Also, it would keep him farthest away from the others. Maybe that would make people feel like he was less of a threat.
Audrey lifted a grin to him. “I hope you’re hungry. Today was my usual baking day, so when the feast was announced, I put on extra elk galettes.”
He offered a smile even as his stomach growled. “Even if I wasn’t hungry, I’d be looking forward to them.”
After he settled into his corner seat, Brielle sat beside him. The activity spread around them as people’s curiosity about him seemed to wane. She pointed out individuals and families, helping him put faces to the names he’d heard spoken before.
Philip, the guard who stayed most nights, sat at the next table with his wife, who worked hard to keep a young girl contained. The child must be about three. Philip had his own hands full with the chubby-cheeked lad whose blond curls matched his own. The man caught Evan’s eye and flashed a ready grin. “Evan. Glad you get to join the feast.”
His friendliness soaked through Evan, and he raised a hand in greeting. How long had it been since he’d had a friend? Not a fellow soldier forced to endure the same atrocities of war, but a genuine friend who greeted him out of pleasure? Maybe he and Philip hadn’t quite reached friendship yet, but he could imagine it.
Before Evan could form words to respond, Philip’s daughter tugged his sleeve and pulled him close to speak into his ear.
A moment later, Leonard stopped by their table, a grin turning his face almost boyish. “Glad you were allowed to come.” Then he slid a half-teasing glance at Brielle. “And not just because it means I get to come, too.”
Brielle took the banter with a nod and a softening of her mouth. “Leonard, would you mind staying here with Evan for a moment while I speak with Jeanette?” She looked to Evan. “She’s Marcellus’s mother.” The fact she would take the time to explain sent warmth through him.
Leonard nodded. “Of course.”
Brielle rose and strode down the row of tables to an older woman. Or maybe the graying of her hair made her appear older than she was, because on Brielle’s approach, her face brightened into a smile that made her appear a decade younger than he’d first thought. Brielle’s attention had that same effect on him, but this woman had likely known her all her life. She would know all the flaws and struggles Brielle hadn’t shown him. But the affection between them was impossible to miss.
Leonard spoke a few words to Brielle’s brother and sister, but Evan couldn’t help but watch the exchange a few tables down.
The woman reached for Brielle’s hand and held it while they spoke, and at one point, Brielle covered their joined hands with her other. One didn’t often see such a connection between women of different generations. He’d never had it himself, even with a fellow his own age. He’d had plenty of acquaintances, colleagues, and even people he called friends. But he’d never shared the warmth that shone between these two.
A man sat beside Jeanette, following the conversation. Was he Marcellus’s father, the man whom Brielle had spoken of when she told of the massacre? She’d said he lost the use of both his legs after that fight. How was he able to come to this room for the feast? Had men carried him? As Evan studied the man’s frame, he glimpsed the structure of a chair back behind him. He’d seen a few of these rolling chairs. Maybe they’d built one for him.
Evan shifted his gaze around the room. His focus snagged on a man sitting against one of the long walls, his arms crossed in a sullen posture. Or maybe it was the swelling in his jaw that made Gerald look so brooding.
Either way, Evan didn’t let his attention linger on the man. There was too much else to see.
Wesley, one of the other guards who’d taken turns in his cell, was sitting with what looked like his family. The man nodded in greeting when he caught Evan’s gaze.
He responded in kind, then continued scanning the room. These were real people. He hadn’t set out to invade or investigate them, but somehow he’d ended up in their midst. They were fathers and mothers, daughters and sons, who loved and hurt with the usual trials of life. Their lives might look different than what he’d grown up with or what he’d learned to love in America. But in truth, there wasn’t so much difference.
He could imagine them as friends and neighbors. This community, this haven, could be the place he’d sought for so long. Would they allow an outsider to live among them? If by some miracle he found pitchblende somewhere else and fulfilled his mission, could he come back to live among them? Would they ever come to accept him, given the way he’d arrived? Would they ever treat him as one of their own?
After years of living here and working alongside them, the fact that he hadn’t grown up among these people might be forgotten. He could see himself one day as one of the gray-haired men leaning over the table to trade stories.
His gaze found Brielle again. His mind formed an image of what she would look like with her own gray hair, the grooves lining her face a testament to happy times, the wisdom gleaned from each year. Perhaps a few of the gray hairs would be brought on by the challenges of raising children to be strong and capable, just like their mother.
A longing rose up inside him with a fierce ache. What would it be like for them to be his children?
Brielle turned from Jeanette then, and her gaze found his. Stirring something inside him.
Her head tipped like she was thinking through something. Then someone spoke to her, pulling her attention away. She was so well-loved by these people, such an integral part of her community, she would likely never even consider an outsider.
But as he watched her interact, watched her laugh at something one of the gray-hairs said, he couldn’t suppress the longing. Especially when she patted an elderly man’s gnarled hand and sent a smile to one of the children scampering by.
He’d recognized her outer beauty from the first time he’d studied her against the cave wall. But this inner beauty was even harder to ignore.
And he wasn’t sure he even wanted to anymore.